Somewhere I Belong Read online

  Early next morning, Helen, Alfred, and I were kneeling on the settee in Aunt Mayme’s parlour, with the curtains pulled back from the front window. The fire was still smouldering in the distance. Smoke drifted under an overcast sky. A layer of soot smudged the road and the snowbanks that had built up around it in a recent winter storm. Except for a single motorcar creeping by, there was no one in sight. But it was the eerie silence in the neighbourhood I remember best—the deep feeling of sadness that had settled in all around. Ma, having cried herself to sleep the night before, still lay in bed, as she now did most mornings at Granny’s.

  I continued along the frozen path toward the barn. Larry or no Larry, I was going to see Lu. She was the only one I could confide in; the only one who would make me feel a little better. Lu nickered and turned in her stall as I eased open the barn door. I went up to her and stroked her neck. “You’re a good old girl, aren’t you, Lu.”

  She rubbed her head on my chest and I hugged her.

  A lantern hung from a rafter across from Big Ned’s stall. Beneath it, Larry knelt in a bed of clean straw in the stall Uncle Ed and I had prepared for the calf the previous day. His arm was wrapped around its neck. To its mouth he held a quart bottle of colostrum to which he had attached a rubber nipple. The calf nudged it and sucked on it, slobbering milk over his face and onto the straw.

  “She’s a hungry little thing, isn’t she?” Larry said, with a big smile. “She thinks I’m her mother.” He turned back to the calf. “Uncle Jim collected colostrum from Isabelle so her calf wouldn’t die. Want to try?”

  “Did he do it before he shot her?” Without waiting for an answer, I said, “I got to clean Lu’s stall and get her feed.”

  Ignoring Larry, I went to the storage room and grabbed the rake and the wheelbarrow. I returned to Lu’s stall, nudged her toward a clean corner, and scooped the manure into the wheelbarrow. I would have spent hours mucking out, just to avoid Larry. And if he tried a fake, cheery, “Come on, P.J., it ain’t all bad,” like he did when he was trying to sound like Uncle Jim, I’d just grunt at him, like he did at me when he thought I was being a pest.

  In my estimation, Larry was nothing but a coward. He was no better than Uncle Jim. They had both taken the easy way out, Uncle Jim by shooting Isabelle and leaving her dead body in the woods, Larry for not taking a stand. Neither of them had the guts to admit that what they had done was wrong.

  When I finished the stall, I brushed past Larry and the calf and climbed up the ladder to the loft. I pitched straw bedding and hay down to Lu, then climbed down and groomed her. I brushed in long, continuous strokes down her neck and over her wide, muscular barrel. I kept working on her, trying to calm myself, while a head-pounding fury built up inside. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you Lu,” I said, loud enough for Larry to hear. “I’ll bet you’d have pulled Isabelle out on Uncle Jim’s rickety old sleigh.”

  I kept stroking her and talking to her, pretending Larry wasn’t there. Talking to him would have meant forgiving him for what happened to Isabelle. It would have made him think that everything was just fine, when it really wasn’t.

  When Uncle Jim returned to the barn with a second bottle of colostrum for Isabelle’s baby calf, I grabbed a pail and stomped off to the well, leaving the barn door open for spite. Hauling water was his job, and he hollered from the door.

  “Leave the watering to me, Pius James; I’ll get to it. How many times have I told you to stay away from that well?”

  Like I’ll listen to him. Like I even care about what Isabelle’s killer has to say. I ignored him and kept on going.

  The well cover had iced over, so I returned to the barn for the shovel. When I pried the cover off, a rock came loose from the mortar and splashed into the water below. I looked up to be sure Uncle Jim hadn’t seen, then I filled a pail for Lu and returned for another one for Big Ned. I figured I could make four more quick trips for the cows and put the cover back on before anybody noticed the missing stone. Besides, Uncle Jim was planning on fixing it soon anyhow. At least he said he was.

  “Boys, it’s cold in here,” Uncle Jim said as I poured Lu’s water. “What d’you say we hitch up Big Ned and I take you fellas to school in the jauntin’ sleigh this mornin’?” The jaunting sleigh was the one we used for visiting and for going to church on Sundays. In the spring, Uncle Jim would remove the wooden runners and put on two sets of wheels.

  “That’s a grand idea,” Larry said. Islanders made a big deal over everything and now Larry was doing it too.

  “I’m walking.” I didn’t care about travelling to school in Uncle Jim’s fancy sleigh.

  By the time I had lugged water in for the cows, Uncle Jim had returned to the house. Larry had thrown fresh straw down for Isabelle’s calf and was arranging it in her stall. “You could go easy on Uncle Jim, P.J.; he only did what he had to do.”

  “Right, Larry. Like I’d listen to you.” In my books, my brother had been a willing accomplice. He had stood beside Isabelle while Uncle Jim did the deed. I hung up the water pail and stormed out the barn door.

  In the kitchen, Helen was sitting at the table cradling a hot mug of cocoa, Aunt Gert was piling dirty dishes into the sink, and Granny was standing at the counter, packing our lunch tins. Any conversation they might have been having stopped when I pushed open the back door. Ignoring their silent stares, I flung off my jacket and boots on the mudroom floor. I grabbed the kettle off the stovetop, poured steaming water into the jug for my washbasin, and headed toward the upstairs. Helen broke the silence before I reached the hall.

  “What’s up with you, P.J.?” Like she doesn’t know.

  “Shut up, Helen.”

  Larry entered through the back door, hung up his jacket, and lined his boots neatly beneath it. Without saying a word, he followed me as I carried the hot water up the stairs. He stood in the doorway of my room and watched as I poured it into the washbasin and banged around in the dim light, looking for the soap and a towel in the heap of mess around it. I didn’t care if I woke Alfred. The little brat could sleep through a thunderstorm anyhow.

  “I don’t feel any better about this than you do, P.J.,” Larry said.

  “Do you mind? I’m getting washed!” I kept my back to him, found the soap on top of the dresser, and peeled off my shirt. “And move away from the door, would you? You’re blocking the light.”

  I finished dressing, grabbed my satchel off the floor, brushed past Larry, and returned downstairs. I pulled my lunch tin off the counter, slipped on my jacket and boots, and walked out the back door alone. After what had happened to Isabelle, I was sick of this place and everybody in it. I wanted out of there and away from them. I was furious at Ma for bringing us here, and I wanted her to take us home.

  Uncle Jim stood at the barn door as I crossed the yard. He forced a smile and swept a hand through the air. I ignored him and rushed down the drive. Thomas was waiting out on the road, as usual, but I kept going straight past him, too.

  “Hey, wait up.” He rushed up behind me. “What’s the matter, P.J.?”

  Like he doesn’t know.

  “You’re not mad about Mr. White’s stupid ol’ cow, are you?” Thomas asked. “My dad said it was some bit o’ business goin’ down to the river after the dumb ol’ thing.”

  “Shut up, Thomas. You don’t know anything.”

  I picked up my pace and tried to lose him, thinking the whole of Northbridge Road must have been murderous crazy. My satchel slammed hard against my back. I hitched my hands under its straps and huffed my way along the newly shovelled road.

  Pat Jr. hurried down the Giddingses’ drive, his satchel slung over a shoulder. He waved to me and picked up his pace. “P.J., wait up.”

  I kept on going.

  “What’s up with him, anyhow?” I heard Pat Jr. ask Thomas.

  If Pat Jr. couldn’t figure it out for himself, he was as stupid as the rest of
them.

  At recess, Thomas searched me out. He and Pat Jr. were making a snow fort and he asked me was I interested. I wasn’t. The snow was too dry to roll—it would crumble in my hands. It seemed a waste of time to try to shape it only to have it fall apart again. Mostly, I wanted to be left alone.

  Thomas and Pat Jr. pulled huge chunks down from a snowbank, brushed them into near-perfect squares, and fitted them together. Then they filled in the gaps with more snow.

  Helen noticed us from across the schoolyard and sauntered over. “Ma says you’re not being fair to Larry.” She scooped snow up from the ground, turned her back to me, and helped Thomas and Pat Jr. with their snow fort.

  “What do you know, Helen?” I said, thinking that if she had something to say to me, she could say it to my face.

  “Well, Ma says they did the right thing; that’s what I know.” She patted in the snow, her head tilted back, her snot nose pointing skyward. “Ma said that old cow ran off on Mr. White and broke her leg. She said Uncle Jim had to put her down.” She brushed off her hands and turned to me. “At least he was there to help her out with her calf. And he and Larry are working real hard to keep it alive. That’s what Ma said.”

  “Who asked you, anyhow?” I wanted to pound her. Instead, I scooped snow up and sprayed it all over her.

  “I’m telling Ma,” she howled.

  “You go right ahead, Helen. Blab to Ma—see if I care.”

  Larry walked home beside me after school, not saying a word. Thomas and Pat Jr. followed close behind with Helen and Maggie MacIntyre. For the first time since we had moved to the Island, Larry slowed his pace so I didn’t have to take running steps to keep up with him. He knew I wouldn’t anyhow. I fixed my gaze on the road and hitched my hands into the straps of my satchel, feeling herded in. No one spoke. Snow banked up on either side of us and crunched under our feet.

  As we approached the house, Lu trotted up to the fence at the front pasture. She nodded and whinnied, then brushed a hoof through the snow.

  “Not today, Lu.” I wasn’t in the mood for games.

  As I trudged up the drive ahead of Larry, I noticed Lu waiting by the fence at the end of the yard. I ignored her and kept walking toward the house. Larry caught up with me and grabbed my arm.

  “What would you have done, P.J.?” His eyes searched for mine. His voice had deepened since we moved. It sounded like Dad’s. Only sad.

  “Something.” I stared off into the distance, refusing his gaze. Refusing to acknowledge that maybe my older brother shared my grief. “I wouldn’t have just stood there and let Uncle Jim—”

  “Cripes, P.J.” Larry tightened his grip. “She broke her bloody leg.” Then he calmed himself and let go my arm. He moved away and looked off toward the back pasture. “You should have seen Uncle Jim when he came back…. It took him a long time before he…you know…before he did it. He checked her all over again, just to make sure. He talked to her….” Larry’s voice trembled. And for the second time since Dad died, I saw him cry. “He knelt down beside her…in that freezing mud…he held her head…told her what a good girl she was…How…how she had done such a good job…He promised her we were going to take care of her calf…told her not to worry. He stayed there for the longest time….” Larry stepped back from me and wiped his eyes. “I think he was crying, P.J. I’ve never seen Uncle Jim cry.”

  “He was?”

  Larry stared at the ground and nodded his head. He looked about as sad as he had on the day of Dad’s funeral. “Uncle Jim told me it was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Then he said for me to go home; he didn’t want me to see.”

  “He did?”

  Larry waited for a moment. “Think about it, P.J. It would have been way worse for her if it weren’t for Uncle Jim.”

  I stood there, watching Larry brush back tears, and ran the whole episode through my head. I saw Isabelle’s pleading eyes and Uncle Jim’s finger on that trigger. Then I heard the gunshot ring out through the trees. But thinking about her situation and what Uncle Ed had told me about large animals and broken legs, there really wasn’t any other way. I took a breath and nodded my head.

  Larry put an arm over my shoulder as we headed toward the house. Granny and Ma were in the kitchen. Ma had baked an apple pie that afternoon—my favourite and an extravagance for that time of year. She cut a generous slice of it and held it out as we entered through the back door.

  “No, thanks.” I still couldn’t stand the smell of food.

  “Fine, I’ll give it to Alfred.”

  “I don’t care.” I was sure Ma was thinking this was a first.

  “Why don’t you take a piece out to your Uncle Jim,” Granny said. “He’s in the barn.”

  “I got homework.” I grabbed my satchel and headed across the kitchen toward the upstairs. “He’ll be in for his tea soon anyhow, won’t he?”

  “Wait a minute, young man,” Granny said. “I’m not asking you to take this out to your uncle; I’m telling you. It’s about time you understood how things are around here. And stop your sulking.”

  If I had learned anything about my grandmother, it was that she won all the arguments; fighting with her was futile. I took the pie and scraped back across the kitchen floor and out the back door. My eyes stung and a lump formed in my throat.

  Uncle Jim was in the barn feeding the baby calf. He smiled at me as I walked toward him holding out the pie.

  “She wouldn’t wait for you fellas.” He gazed down at the baby calf. “She was starvin’.”

  When the calf finished the bottle, Uncle Jim pulled up a stool, sat down, and tucked into the pie. “Nice little thing, ain’t she?”

  “I guess.”

  “Have you thought of a name for ’er yet?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “What about Betsie or Cupcake? She looks like a Betsie; what d’you think?”

  “I dunno.” They both sounded stupid to me.

  When I turned to walk away, Uncle Jim got up from the stool and put the pie down. “Pius James, we should have us a little chat.”

  I turned back to him and stared at the mud floor.

  “Listen…I had no business takin’ you down them woods after that cow. If I had a notion of what we were gonna find…. What I mean to say is, I shoulda had the brains to send you home. Anyhow, I didn’t and I’m sorry.”

  I glanced up at him and nodded, then dropped my gaze to the floor. I noticed a piece of a shaved hoof imbedded in the mud and concentrated on it.

  “I thought good and hard about it. You know it was the last thing I wanted to do.”

  “Larry told me.” I still couldn’t look him dead-on.

  Uncle Jim thought for a moment, then took a breath. “Listen Pius James, I think I’ve been pushing you boys pretty hard. What d’ya say we cut down on the chores a bit? What d’ya say we try to have us a bit a fun?” He looked straight at me and put out a hand. “How ’bout we shake on it?”

  I saw the pained look on Uncle Jim’s face. I thought about all the time he had spent with Larry and me over the past two months. How he had taught me everything I needed to know about tending Lu. How much care he put into her and Big Ned; how much he loved his herd. This wasn’t a man who dealt out intentional harm.

  I reached my hand out to him, then heard a rattling noise, and watched the plate fly off the stool. And the calf leaning over it, baked apple and crumbs covering its face.

  “Well, ain’t that somethin’!” Uncle Jim said. “One day old and already she’s into the pie.”

  Uncle Jim and I stood and watched the baby calf lick crumbs from its face and sniff the empty plate.

  “Cupcake’s pretty close to apple pie, isn’t it?” I said.

  The evening after my conversation in the barn with Uncle Jim, Ma took me into the parlour and sat me down with her.

  “You and your Uncle Jim patch thing
s up?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You okay now”?

  “I guess.”

  Ma waited for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry, Pius James.”

  “What for? You didn’t do anything.”

  “For everything,” she said. “For bringing you up here. For exposing you to things you’re too young to see.”

  “Like Isabelle?” I said.

  “Like Isabelle.” She turned to me. “That sort of thing doesn’t happen all the time, Pius James. But you have to understand that animals can get into trouble sometimes. Difficult decisions have to be made. Your uncle put Isabelle down because he didn’t want to see her suffer. And it won’t be the last time he has to do something like that. It’s just too bad you had to see it so soon.”

  There was a lot of stuff I had seen too soon. Like my dad in a closed coffin in Aunt Mayme’s parlour. Like his funeral, which was first one I had ever attended. Like Ma packing up our house, giving most of our stuff away, and bringing us up here. Old Dunphy behaving like a lunatic at school and putting on his fake charm at Granny’s dining room table. And Isabelle dying on a mud bank, while giving birth to Cupcake.

  This was the first time Ma had talked to me alone since we had moved to Granny’s. And now she was reaching into a hollow place inside of me and opening up a valve. I stared at the floor, blinking back tears. But as sorry as I felt for myself, I had to realize that most of what had happened since Dad died wasn’t Ma’s fault. It was just a sad set of circumstances most people would call “fate.”

  “What about Mr. Dunphy?” I asked.

  Ma heaved a sigh. “He sits at our dining room table twice a month, smiling and chatting like nobody’s business. He gets into the classroom and he’s somebody else altogether.” She paused and touched my shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. Maybe he’s unhappy, Pius James. What do you think?”

  “I think I don’t like him very much.”

  That night, I knelt by my bed and offered prayers up to Dad, like I always did. I said three Our Fathers and five Hail Marys for Cupcake. I asked God to help Larry and me take care of her. Then I appealed to him to help me turn a new page—to help me get along better at Granny’s and find a way to appease Old Dunphy. Or at least to keep him at bay. Then I fell into the deepest sleep I remember having since I arrived at Granny’s.